Chapter 5

I came to inform you that you’ll be taken to the Prince tomorrow morning,” Valentina said, stepping inside with that same flat expression. She dropped a long red dress at my feet. “Wear this. Be ready. I don’t like waiting.”

She didn’t ask whether I understood. She just turned and left, the door slamming shut behind her like a final judgment.

My heart stopped.

They’re taking me to him.

The words repeated in my head, echoing over and over again, each one heavier than the last. They’re taking me to the Prince. The one I’d seen with my own eyes murder a woman without blinking. The one whose name silenced rooms and tightened throats.

I didn’t even know when sleep claimed me. The fear must have pulled me under like a weight.

The next thing I heard was a voice—sharp, impatient.

“Wake up. You haven’t even dressed.”

I forced my eyes open. Valentina stood over me, her arms crossed, her tone colder than ever.

I tried to sit up, but my body betrayed me. Every limb ached. My skin was burning.

“I…” My voice cracked. “I can’t.”

Valentina stepped closer, frowning. She touched my forehead, and her hand recoiled. “You’re burning up.”

I nodded faintly. My throat felt like sand. My body was trembling, but not from fear this time. This was sickness.

“You’re ill,” she muttered. “But the Prince… he doesn’t care.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say?

She turned without another word and left. I curled into myself, wishing the cold stone floor would just swallow me whole.

A few minutes later, she returned, tossing a small packet into my hands along with a cup of water. “Take this. You have twenty minutes.”

I swallowed the pill without question. Whatever it was, I needed it. I needed to survive.

“You will wear the dress,” she said, stern but softer than before. “I’ll be back.”

When she left again, I lay still for a moment, but then something strange happened. Slowly, the heat in my body began to fade. The pain dulled. My strength returned, like a string being pulled tight beneath my skin.

What kind of medicine was that? I didn’t know, but I wasn’t about to complain.

I stood on shaky legs and slipped into the red dress. I didn’t even remove the ragged clothes beneath. What did it matter? I wasn’t dressing to impress. I was dressing for survival.

Valentina returned, unchaining my ankles and taking my arm.

I followed her in silence. The kingdom’s corridors seemed longer now, wider, and crueler. Guards passed, their eyes trailing over me. Slaves worked, heads bowed, like shadows in the palace.

Then we crossed into another wing—one far grander than any place I’d seen so far.

Marble floors. Gold carved pillars. Rich velvet drapes. The air even smelled different—cleaner, perfumed.

We entered a vast parlor, and a voice snapped through the air.

“Finally. Start counting your death days.”

I froze.

Sitting lazily on a plush sofa was Princess Anna. This time she wasn’t in her royal attire but in silk shorts and a sleeveless blouse. Despite her casual appearance, her voice oozed venom.

Her fingers tapped quickly across a laptop resting on her legs. She didn’t even look up.

“Just remember,” she said with a sneer, “I, Anna of the Opsia Kingdom, hate you. And I alone will decide when your suffering ends.”

I said nothing. Valentina kept moving. I followed, forcing my trembling legs to obey.

We climbed a spiral staircase to a towering wooden door.

She knocked once.

“Enter,” came the deep voice from within.

My breath hitched.

The door opened. Inside, the room was vast, dark, and masculine. Weapons lined the walls. A thick fur rug sprawled across the floor. The windows were high, curtains drawn. The air felt heavier, like it belonged to someone powerful and dangerous.

Then I saw him.

Prince Damien.

Tall. Bare chested. A towel wrapped around his waist, his skin glistening from a recent bath. His arms were corded with muscle, tattoos crawling across his chest like inked shadows.

His gaze landed on me and froze.

Valentina stepped back.

“You may leave,” Damien said without emotion.

She nodded once and exited, closing the door behind her.

I was alone.

My head bowed instinctively. My entire body tensed.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing as they scanned me from top to bottom. I could feel the heat of his presence before he even spoke.

“You wore the dress over your filthy rags?” His tone was ice. “Are you stupid or just slow?”

I opened my mouth to explain but stopped.

He raised a brow. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

I shut my mouth again, trembling.

“Strip,” he ordered. “And bathe. I don’t touch filth.”

I flinched, covering myself with my arms.

When I didn’t move fast enough, he stepped forward and yanked the outer gown off. It tore easily, leaving my old, worn dress underneath.

“Tch,” he muttered. “Pathetic.”

He didn’t touch me again, just turned his back. “There’s a washroom. You have one minute.”

I ran.

Inside the washroom, I found a silver basin filled with warm water, fragrant with herbs. I scrubbed quickly, my hands shaking as I tried to make myself… worthy? No. Just less filthy. Less… punishable.

I found a towel, unsure if it was meant for me, and wrapped it around myself tightly.

When I stepped out again, he was standing at the window, his back to me.

I stood by the toilet door when he approached, yanking the towel off my body.

“How dare you use my towel?”

Before I could react, his hands were on me. My body trembled; I was too afraid to speak.

In an instant, he grabbed my tiny waist, pressing his hard chest against my breasts as his lips crashed onto mine, kissing me wildly. This was my first time experiencing anything like this because I was still a virgin. Yet, despite my fear, a rush of pleasure surged through me. His hand cupped my breast, squeezing and caressing it roughly as my breath hitched.